


Yesterday Was A Year Ago

by notbees



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Continuation, Ciri has two dad’s and a wine aunt (yennifer), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Geralt being a dad, Healing, M/M, Takes place shortly after the first season ends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notbees/pseuds/notbees
Summary: Finally together, Geralt and Ciri just want to survive but threats are constantly looming and neither of them were prepared for just how much they’d mean to each other. Luckily Yennifer and Jaskier show up, each determined to help Geralt accept his destiny.Post-S1. Basically just improvised parenting with a bit of romance sprinkled on top.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 107
Kudos: 1124
Collections: witcher





	1. Prologue: The Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri and Geralt arrive at an inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finally written something. I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere but I did it! So here it is!  
> I’m currently completely obsessed with the show (haven’t read the books or played the games yet) and I just had to write something to fill the void until season two starts. I don’t think it’ll have much plot stuff, I really just wanted to play around with the characters. So it'll probably just mostly be relationship stuff.  
> Let me know if you want more!

Roach’s hooves pounded against the muddy road, sending vibrations through Geralt’s legs as he encouraged her onward. Rain and muck chilled his cloak but the body at his back kept him warm.

_ Ciri. _

For a moment he’d truly began to believe he’d die without ever meeting the child he was promised, not that the thought would’ve bothered him a few years earlier. No, the Geralt before the djinn and Yennifer would not have even considered claiming his reward but circumstances changed.

Distantly the glow of light from a window came into view, followed by a crack of noise as a door to a two story, wooden building creaked open.

An inn.

Pulling back a touch on Roach’s reigns, they came to a stop just as they reached the muddy clearing surrounding the building.

Across the way a drunken man stumbled towards the woods, untying his britches to take a piss. 

Though she was mostly covered by his cloak, Geralt felt Ciri tense a bit at the sight.

_Princess wasn’t made for the road_ , he reminded himself.

Geralt encouraged Roach to take a few more steps towards the inn so she was underneath the cover of the balcony before throwing his leg back over the side, his boots sinking a solid five inches into the mud. 

With a grunt, he reached up to a wide-eyed Ciri, clutching her waist to help her down from the horse.

“This place...” she started, hesitantly.

“Is better than sleeping on the ground,” Geralt finished for her. “We’ll be warm here. Safe, for a little while at least.”

“It’s just—“ she glanced into the windows towards the bustling crowd in the second floor. “What about them?”

Geralt followed her gaze, frowning. “Hm.” Again, he opened his cloak to her.

She looked up to him then back to his cloak, looking uncertain as always, but eventually settled into his side again. 

“Keep your hair hidden.”

Ciri nodded, pulling up her own hood before taking ahold of his belt. 

At first, Geralt had thought it was a conscious habit but then, he’d realized it was just she was keeping her hands in reach of the dagger at his hip. Just in case.

_ Clever girl. _

Keeping his stride slow, Geralt started for the inn, making sure to keep his mutated eyes low and his satchel of coin in view. No keeper of an inn so... ramshackle would turn down good coin, even from a Witcher. 

As expected, when they stepped indoors the gruff keeper at the front desk’s eyes went glazed at the flash of the leather bag. “Hello, sir.” He glanced at Ciri hidden beneath two layers of cloak, her face downcast. “Youngling, how can I help you two this evening?”

“We’d like a room for the night,” Geralt grumbled, resting the heavy satchel upon the desk with a distinct clink. “And some warm food.”

“We can do that,” the keeper said with a sure nod. “I’ve got a good room upstairs but there’s only one bed.”

“That’ll do.”

Ciri looked up at him, surprised.

Geralt tugged at the front of her hood, a reminder.

_ Eyes. Down. _

Hers weren’t nearly distinctive as his, or Yennifer’s for that matter, but there certainly was something otherworldly about them that anyone with enough brains to make soup could sense.

She obediently turned her gaze to the creaky floor.

“First door to the left at the top of the stairs. I’ll bring you up some food within the hour.”

Geralt obligingly tossed a five coins onto the counter which the keeper scooped up eagerly.

They turned towards the stairs and started upwards, each step making a death yowl as they ascended. But eventually they made it to their room.

It was a slight thing—which was to be expected by the state of the place—but there was a bed pressed against the far wall big enough to fit one and a door a step away from the entrance that led to a washroom. 

Decent.

“Why don’t you go wash off? I’ll see if I can find us any dry clothes to sleep in.”

Reluctantly, Ciri released his belt and went towards the washroom. “Why did you say the one bed was fine?” She asked at the doorway.

“Like I said, better than sleeping on the ground. Get washed up, Princess.”

Nodding, Cirilla disappeared into the washroom, the door squealing shut behind her. 

With a gruff sigh, Geralt unlatched his soaked cloak and tossed it towards the dresser followed by his muddy boots before retreating out into the hall. Best no one could track his every move thanks to his soiled clothes. 

Although the bottom stairs—which was assumably a tavern—was bustling the top floor was almost frightfully empty. A few of the other doors were closed but Geralt thought that was less an indication of occupancy and more of an attempt to fool him into thinking that anyone else would be willing to stay in the rat-infested inn. 

Below, the telltale first chords of one of Jaskier’s songs floated upwards.

Wincing at the sound, Geralt started for the nearest room.

He returned not five minutes later, a bundle of ratty but dry clothes in his arms. He deposited them atop the bed before plopping down beside them to busy himself removing his soggy armor.

This wasn’t anything new. Crappy inns, ruined clothes, foes at every corner. This was Geralt’s life. But it felt more urgent with Ciri, more _dangerous_.

Across the room the washroom door squealed open again and Ciri awkwardly shuffled out, a towel tugged tight around her frail body. 

She wasn’t fully comfortable around him yet but Geralt couldn’t blame her, he wasn’t entirely sure about her either. 

He lifted a scraggly, grey cap into view. “If the innkeeper comes up cover your hair with this.”

Ciri nodded meekly as he stood from the bed, taking her place in the washroom. 

The bath water was muggy but Geralt wasn’t willing to go to the effort to change it so he just shucked off his remaining clothes and climbed in.

The water was tepid. 

Paying it little mind to it, he ducked his head under the water and got to work scrubbing the grime of the road from his skin and hair. It was a brief and rough wash, hardly pleasurable as his bathes with Yennifer or Jaskier but Geralt shoved that thought deep down the second it bubbled up. 

_ Ciri is the priority now. Best to not dwell on old mistakes. _

But once the memories of them came to the surface it was hard to forget.

Grunting, he lifted himself from the water, hurriedly drying off with a spare towel before wrapping it around his waist and stepping back out into the room.

Ciri was on the bed, dressed in the too-large shirt and trousers he’d found for her, a decent spread of bread, cheese, and stew sitting on the nightstand. It was probably more than they could afford but Geralt didn’t bother mentioning that as he strode to scoop his new clothes off the bed.

Ciri went still when she saw him—a steaming bowl of stew at her lips—her eyes going wide and her cheeks going a tad pink. 

Clothes in hand, Geralt returned to the washroom to save them both the embarrassment.

When he was dressed she was still on the bed, slurping at her stew. When she saw him, clean and dressed this time, she held the bowl out, an offering.

A small smile twisted it’s way onto his lips at the gesture but he just shook his head before bundling up his damp towel and dropping it to the floor by the dresser before joining it on the creaky floors.

“What are you doing?” Ciri asked, frowning.

“Sleeping,” Geralt replied, settling down onto the crooked floorboards.

“But—“ she glanced at the bed she sat on.

Geralt sighed. “Get some rest, Princess. We have a big day tomorrow.”


	2. The Bard And The Sorceress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while on the road alone Jaskier runs into a familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely blown away by the amount of feedback I've gotten on this fic. Y'all are so sweet.   
> Again, this is just my version of what happens after the S1 finale, it won't be incredibly plot-heavy. Once we get over a few essential humps it'll mostly be fluff.

Jaskier couldn’t write. It was driving him insane. Muses came and went, he’d learned that early on, but something about Geralt’s absence had shaken the words from his mind, leaving him with nothing but melodies without lyrics. 

Strumming at his lute, he made his way down an ash-dusted trail.

_Nilfgaardians,_ a nearby stable keep had informed him. _They burned through Sodden only a few days ago._

Seemed like a story worthy of a song but as smoke assaulted his nostrils and dampened his spirits Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to think much outside of _“this is wrong”._

The world was grey with lingering smoke, as if the fires had purged all of the color from the world, leaving it bare and dangerous. It looked like the kind of place Geralt would’ve taken him to kill a monster; bleak and lifeless. With Geralt it would’ve made good texture for a song but alone Jaskier found himself feeling exposed and anxious.

He strummed a few somber chords on his lute, more to soothe the edges of his fear rather than an attempt to make actual music. 

_ On the thin road to Sodden you’ll find little but ash, _

_ For the firm folk of Nilfgaard gave it a mighty blast, _

_ And while the nearby villages watched the soil turn to sun, _

_ They knew for certain their lives all were done. _

Wincing, Jaskier imagined balling up the words on a piece of parchment and tossing them into the trees. 

_ Awful, truly awful. _

Once upon a time songs had floated into his soul like leaves on the wind but in the wake of recent events, the world felt too dark for it.

With a frustrated sigh, Jaskier loosened his grip on his lute, letting it slip onto his back. 

Soon, the trees dwindled becoming thinner and thinner until they were just charred, skeletal husks peaking out of the black ground. The fires had burnt away most of the bodies leaving little to identify but a few spare bones and a sword here and there which Jaskier was silently grateful for. He didn’t think he’d be able to bare graying corpses and battered flesh. Not on his own, at least.

Soon, the castle came into view as the trees cleared, a ring of bruised color in a world of darkness.

_ To find the keep of Sodden you need not despair, _

_ Simply follow the scent of charred land in the air, _

_ And when you come upon the light in the dark, _

_ Your words will go missing, no more cries left to bark. _

“Fucking hell,” he murmured, coming to a stop at the center of the field. 

_You’ve never been one to go on your own adventures, bard,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Geralt murmured at the back of his mind. It was right but Jaskier resented it nonetheless.

He didn’t need Geralt—even if his adventures made good songs—because he wasn’t going to lower himself to need someone who didn’t need him back.

Clenching his jaw, Jaskier started towards the castle again. The tilt of his chin was determined but nerves still fluttered about in his gut.

He wouldn’t go into the castle where bodies had yet to be dealt with but he would look upon the keeps walls and imagine the hell it’d been through.

He was a stones throw away when a shattered gasp from behind him made him jump out of his skin. “Bloody- _fuck_ —“ he spun around to find a figure sitting up in a pile of ash, coughing as they looked from side to side, panicked.

“Uh,” Jaskier started, looking from them to the castle then back again. “ _Hello._ Are you one of the good guys?”

_ Please, please tell me you are. I don’t have my burly Witcher to get me out of scrapes anymore.  _

The figure spun around, ash flying off their dark hair as the spun around to regard him with panicked lilac eyes.

“Oh, _fuck_.” He stumbled backwards on instinct. “Wha- _Yennifer?_ What the hell are you doing _here?”_

Yennifer’s face, dirtied but gorgeous as ever, pinched at the sight of him. “ _Jaskier?_ Where’s Tissaia?”

“Ti-who-uh?”

“ _The Rectoress_ ,” Yennifer gritted out. 

“I have no idea whom you’re talking about. What are you doing in a battlefield?”

With an annoyed huff, Yennifer lurched upwards, wiping the ash from her eyes as she scanned the ruined field. As she did so, Jaskier caught a flash of dried red underneath the clouds of grey.

“You’re hurt,” he said, almost in awe.

Yennifer clenched her jaw, spinning back to face him. “Where is he?”

Jaskier already knew but he murmured anyway, “Who?”

Yennifer scoffed but it sounded more like a sob.

“Are you alright?” The words squeezed out of his throat before he could stop them.

“Everyone’s gone,” she said.

Jaskier followed her gaze towards the ash and nodded.

Swiping angrily at her cheeks, Yennifer turned to face him again. “Where is he?”

Jaskier worked his jaw before replying. “He isn’t here. We had a bit of a falling out, actually.”

Yennifer eyed him for a long minute before nodding. “Have you got any coin?”

“Ah...a little.”

“Good. I crave a bath and some ale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I-I can't write songs. Don't judge me.  
> I loved all of Jaskier and Yennifer's interactions, they're both so sassy and petty. I love it.  
> Thanks for all the sweet comments and kudos! I hope this fic turns out to be deserving of your kindness. <3


	3. Wolves & Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt takes a job. Yennefer and Jaskier travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I've been spelling Yennefer wrong this whole time??? Why didn't y'all tell me?? I feel like a Dumb Ass.  
> Here's some more petty Jaskier+Yennefer and dad!Geralt content for your patience with me.   
> ....I still can't write songs....

Geralt had been wide awake for hours by the time sunlight peaked through the inn’s glazed windows. It had quieted below throughout the night but he was still hyper aware of every creek of every floorboard, Ciri seemed to sleep fine though; thoroughly submerged in the exhaustion of her journey. He couldn’t help but envy her dead slumber. But he didn’t pout, instead he made his way downstairs, finding the pub grimey and stale but mercifully empty.

The innkeeper, bizarrely, was still awake and swiftly took his order of stew and ale. He hadn’t eaten the night before and his rumbling stomach was reminding him.

The food and alcohol went down in a blur, he barely tasted in his hurry to fill his stomach and he’d slowly dozed into a post-meal haze when the keeper returned.

“That’ll be five,” he said gruffly.

Blinking back into reality Geralt eyed him, confused.

The innkeeper nodded towards his empty bowl. “For today’s food. And six for last night’s.”

Dread sank in through Geralt’s exhaustion, slow and heavy.

_Of course,_ he thought. _Payment._

With a sigh he tugged his satchel loose from his belt, shaking his coin out onto he table. They clinked together as they hit the wood, filling the quiet tavern with noise. 

One, two, three, four, five, six.

_ Fuck. _

Next to him, the innkeeper remained, staring as though some more coin would magically appear in the pile. It did not.

“I don’t have enough,” Geralt admitted, sourly.

The innkeeper just stared, eyes firm and waiting.

Sighing, he continued, “Maybe I can work it off.”

At that, the keeper’s stern form finally broke as he snorted. “You gonna wash my dishes in the river, Witcher?”

“I’m not opposed to that arrangement but I was thinking more along the lines of killing a monster for you.”

“With the war and all the only kind of monsters we have around here nowadays is humans. But—“ he cut off with a sigh. “At least you’re ain’t completely stiffin’ me. I’ll tell you what, we got a wolf that’s been prowling about these last few months, eating our chickens and such. You bring back that beast’s pelt for my wife and food and lodging will be on the house.”

Geralt nodded, standing.

“But the youngling will stay.”

Geralt stilled.

The keeper shrugged expansively. “Gotta make sure you won’t run off on me, right? Business is business.”

Gritting his teeth, Geralt looked from the man to the stairs, like Ciri would magically appear at her mention. But she remained tucked away and he remained broke and out of options. “If you touch a hair on her head—“

“I don’t have any part in hurting children, Witcher. Besides, if she’s traveling with you my instincts tell me it’s best to stay away from her.”

Geralt grunted, starting for the stairs. “I’ll have your wolf by sundown.”

***

_ “Her hair black as raven, her eyes purple as sunset,  _

_ Men love her but are craven, when they hear of her genitalia upset—“ _

“Bloody hell, I understand why Geralt left you now.”

It was a joke, Jaskier knew but it still managed to sting. “You swindle me for my coin and now you’re acting offended that I’m upset?”

“I’d hardly call this _‘swindling’_ you,” Yennefer said with a roll of the eyes.

“Oh? Then what is this—“ Jaskier gestured at the respectable distance between them, they weren’t leaning on each other but it was still clear they were traveling together.

“I’m relying on your male instinct to help the damsel in distress.”

Jaskier snorted.

_Yennefer,_ a _damsel._

She glanced back at him with a pointed glare but it was offset by the ash still dirtying her skin. 

“I thought you’d be pleased to know no one thinks of you in such perimeters.” He kicked a rock out of the trail. “Nobody except Geralt, that is, but he doesn’t count.” _Compared to him everyone is a damsel._

Yennefer sighed. “Could we just walk in silence? Please?”

“You know, everyone always says that when they’re traveling with the bard.”

“Yes, but I didn’t choose to travel with the bard—“

“You just chose to rob him of his money.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Big baby.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose, murmuring, “I’m not a baby.”

Yennefer glanced back at him, as if that’d proved her point.

Jaskier bristled.

_ What cruel god has put me at the service of this she-devil? _

“You never said what you were doing in Sodden.” It wasn’t quite a question but it didn’t need to be.

“You didn’t either,” Yennefer replied.

“Because you never asked,” Jaskier pointed out. “ _I_ asked.”

“Yes, and I chose to ignore your question.”

Jaskier’s lips twisted into a smile but he wasn’t really amused. “Every time we part I forget why I dislike you and then we meet and I remember again.”

Yennefer ignored that. “How much further to the inn?”

_ “She was an impatient little brute, _

_ Determined to steal bard’s loot, _

_ And strip him of his dignity—“ _

***

“You’re _leaving_ me!”

Geralt sighed, heaving his swords onto his shoulder. “I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“And if the Nilfgaardians come and try to take me?”

“Something tells me you won’t go quietly.”

“You’re supposed to _protect_ me.” It wasn’t the words themselves that made him pause but the way Ciri said them; like Geralt was a rug, the last comfort between her and the cold hard earth, and he’d been pulled out from underneath her. “We _just_ found each other,” Ciri continued. “It was supposed to be destiny.”

“It is,” Geralt groaned, hating that he knew it was true. “And I’m telling you, I’ll be back by nightfall.”

Ciri’s gaze softened but she didn’t look soothed.

“I won’t abandon you, Princess,” Geralt found himself saying. “Ever.” It was a truth so solid it almost hurt to say. Never again would he consider leaving his Child of Surprise to the care of others, never again would he pretend she’d be better off. They _belonged_ at each other’s sides.

“What if they come for me?” It was barely a whisper.

Geralt dropped his hand to his hip, finding the blade she’d appeared to be fond of in its usual spot. With expert finesse, he unattached the dagger from his belt and strode over to Ciri with it extended. 

“Defend yourself if you need to.”

Ciri looked from him to the blade. “I don’t know if I can. I’m not—“

“Your grandmother?” Geralt finished, amused.

At that Ciri’s lips twisted into the ghost of a smile.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve eyed it.” He extended the blade even further. “You’re capable, it’s in your blood.”

Hesitantly, Ciri took ahold of the dagger; like she was holding a baby bird.

Geralt sighed and kneeled down in front of her, taking her tiny wrist in his hand. “You want it to feel like it’s an extension of your arm. Your wrist is a second elbow. Feel?” He helped her extend her arm so the blade was pointed at an invisible foe. 

Ciri nodded. “What if I drop it?”

“Then hit them.”

Eyes fluttered down to her free hand, Ciri slowly balled her hand into a fist.

Geralt nodded, approvingly. “You’re small but you’re smart and now—“ He tapped the hand with the dagger. “You’ve got a knife.”

Again, Ciri’s lips tilted into a hesitant smile. “Nightfall?”

Again, Geralt nodded. “Nightfall.”

***

The inn was a ratty, waterlogged thing. Less of a house and more of a barn with crooked walls and a mud-soaked yard. But still, it was better than nothing.

The innkeeper was at the front desk when they entered, somberly flitting through six coins. 

Yennefer strode up to the counter, chin high. She looked like a queen ready to take her throne. “We need rooms,” she said.

The keeper regarded them flatly, seemingly unconcerned by Yennefer’s battered appearance. “How many?”

“One,” Jaskier cut in, moving beside her.

Yennefer turned to him slowly, a cold look in her eye. 

“What?” Jaskier squeaked. “I only have enough for the one, sorry my budget doesn’t live up to _your_ quality of livelihood.”

Sighing, she turned back to the keeper. “One room. With a bath.”

The keeper nodded. “Only one room is occupied at the moment, take your pick of the others.” He gestured up the stairs. 

Yennefer didn’t stop to let him finish before starting upwards.

“Bloody hell.” Jaskier dumped a bit of coin onto the counter and hurried to follow her.

Every stride she took was determined and the sight suddenly reminded him of Geralt; always moving forward.

“Are you sure you’re well?” He found himself asking.

She did look a touch paler than normal underneath all the grime and a fair amount of blood still covered her face and clothes, though he wasn’t sure whether or not it was hers.

“Since when do you care?” Yennefer strode to the second door closest to the stairs without hesitation.

Jaskier didn’t have an answer to that. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he always seemed to find himself lowering himself to grey people’s levels to sneak a peak at the motive behind the shadow. “I’m the traditional sort when it comes to death,” he ended up saying. “I like to mourn appropriately and bury my dead and I’d rather not callus my lovely palms while trying to dig your grave.”

Yennefer scoffed but she left the door open for him as she went through to the washroom inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing The Witcher 3 now y'all, chill. I've also ordered the books but this fic is still gonna remain speculation (if you can even call it that, really it's just my version of what's going to happen).   
> Thanks for all the comments, they make me so happy. I'm glad you're enjoying this!


	4. Open Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt questions how to proceed. Yennefer and Jaskier talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a minute, I thought I wanted this chapter to be longer but when I finished it I decided I wanted to split it into two chapters so this is the first part. I'll put the next one up tomorrow.

Geralt hated hunting animals. Killing monsters was one thing but natural wildlife? He preferred not to.

Sure he’d help himself to a deer or a hare every now and then but that was pure survival, wolves didn’t make for good food and they rarely bothered him (now Roach was another story) so for the most part he left them be. So on the knowledge of the behavior of wolves he was a bit lost.

_Why couldn’t it have been a werewolf?_ he grumbled silently as he sat atop a nursing log, waiting.

His leg still ached mercilessly but Geralt paid it no mind, it wouldn’t kill him. He was sure of that much if anything.

A few yards away, a bush rustled menacingly.

Arching an expectant brow, Geralt eyed it, tightening his grip on his steel sword. Yet, nothing emerged from the brush.

“Hm,” he grunted, relaxing as much as he could manage.

The wolf wasn’t the main thing on his mind—though he was desperate to get the task done with. His thoughts lingered on the same thing that’d been flittering through his head for days since he’d found Ciri.

_ What now? _

When he’d first approached her grandmother everything had seemed to make perfect sense but now that he actually _had_ Ciri Geralt couldn’t help but second guess every step he took. 

But instinct set his eyes towards Kaer Morhen, it had become a habit of his to return there when everything started to jumble together. He’d returned after Blaviken and he’d considered returning when he’d thought Ciri gone. But knowing that Ciri would be with him, that he’d be sharing such a monumental part of himself with her...

Geralt shivered that thought away.

_ It doesn’t matter. She’ll be protected there. She’ll be safe at Kaer Morhen. Safe at home. _

Distantly, a branch snapped.

Geralt sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils.

_ Rain, blood, wet fur. _

With a resigned sigh Geralt rose to his feet.

_ Time to get to work. _

***

Yennefer had managed to stop the bleeding from the wound Sabrina had given her but the pain wasn’t quite soothed, especially not when she sank into the steaming bath water full of salts and oils. It wouldn’t kill her but it was still fucking annoying.

With a squeal the washroom door flew inwards and Jaskier strode in, bottles and gauze cradled in his arms.

Yennefer didn’t jump but it was a near thing, her heart leaping into her throat as she summoned her chaos to her fingertips. But she dispersed it before she could accidentally send him flying across the room. 

“ _Jaskier_ ,” she drawled with clenched teeth. “Can I help you?”

But Jaskier paid her no mind, depositing his loot at the edge of the tub before joining it there as he rolled up his sleeves.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh pipe down,” he said finally, pouring a fair bit of clear liquid onto one of the strips of gauze. “I’ve seen you in the nude more times then I’d like to admit and I can _definitively_ say you do _not_ hold my interest.”

Yennefer was aware of as much but still felt a touch of offense. “Don’t like women stronger than you?”

“Don’t like women who scare me,” Jaskier said pointedly, beckoning her closer.

Her bones still stung with annoyance but she obediently moved within his reach.

Gently, Jaskier dabbed at the wound beneath her breasts, eyes squinted like a painter working out fine details on a portrait.

The liquid, whatever it was, stung but Yennefer held her hisses of pain back on a short leash.

“You do this?” Jaskier asked, gesturing to the corners of her wound which were slowly but surely healing. It’d still hurt and likely leave a scar but it’d have to do.

Sighing, she nodded.

“Neat trick. Back when I was traveling with Geralt-well, the worst part was stitching up his wounds, I hated that bit.”

“Don’t like blood?” Yennefer teased.

“Don’t like open wounds,” Jaskier corrected. “Too—“ he waved his free hand in an airy gesture. “Fleshy.”

Yennefer snorted before she could stop herself. “I never got why he kept you around.”

Jaskier stiffened.

“No offense,” Yennefer hurried to add, feeling oddly guilty at the brief flash of hurt that passed over his face. “You just don’t seem like the type he’d befriend.”

“Well,” Jaskier started sourly as he uncorked another elixir. “I was doing the befriending, mostly. I never really got what he saw in you either... besides the obvious, that is,” he said, gesturing towards her breasts awkwardly.

Yen rolled her eyes but she felt a sting at his words too, not at the fact that Jaskier didn’t find her attractive but at the reminder that her looks had been the thing to draw Geralt. Enough to wish for their destinies to be intertwined, enough to join the hunt for a dragon to be near her.

_If he’d seen me as I was,_ she thought. _Before everything, would he have spared me a second glance? Or was he just the same as all other men?_

Without warning, Jaskier upended the newest elixir onto her wound but it didn’t sting like the previous one, instead it made the skin it touched numb and tingly and hardened over the gash in a wax-like bandage. 

Yennefer dragged her fingers over it, admittedly impressed. 

“Payment for one of Geralt’s jobs,” he answered her unasked question with a roll of the eyes. “Didn’t get the chance to give it back to him before we parted ways.”

Yennefer was speaking before she could stop herself, “You miss him.” It wasn’t a judgement. Although she hated to admit it, she missed him too. But with Jaskier it was palpable, he missed Geralt like a lost limb.

Jaskier reeled back in dramatic offense. “That- _ungrateful,_ heartless Witcher? Of course not.” He didn’t say it but the rest of the sentence lingered in his gaze; _‘Why would I extend my efforts in missing a man who certainly wouldn’t bother to miss me?’_

_ Maybe we have more in common than I thought.  _

“Thank you,” the words ripped out of Yennefer’s throat before she could stop them.

Jaskier arched a brow, amused.

She scowled. “Now get the hell out of my bathing chambers before I portal you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it <3  
> Happy New Year!


	5. Curiosity Kills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is impatient. Geralt senses an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, sorry this is so late. I meant to put it up earlier but I got distracted 😔

Ciri did try to remain patient, she really did. But she’d never been good at sitting still and worry frayed all her nerves to a crisp. So she made a bad decision, she went downstairs. 

She tried but she couldn’t come up with a good excuse for her disobedience outside of plain old nerves. She hoped that was enough for Geralt to forgive her as she reached the bottom floor.

The man they’d interacted with the day before was no longer at the counter, instead a woman took his place, frowning down at the scarf she was knitting.

The woman paid her no mind so Ciri slipped into the tavern as casually as she could.

It was lightly busy, there were two groups of drunken men sprawled out across the space and a few stray others but none of them gave her so much as a glance as she settled into a table in the corner, the cap Geralt had found her pulled firmly over her hair.

Masculinity, she found, made anonymity much more accessible. 

Geralt was nowhere to be seen, as expected, but Ciri didn’t move. She wouldn’t sit idly twiddling her thumbs in their room until he came back to her.

_ No, you’ll just twiddle your thumbs in a tavern instead. _

Frowning, she sank a bit further into her seat.

“Can I get you something, kid?” 

Ciri jumped at the voice, finding the woman who’d been at the counter standing in front of her; still idly knitting.

Ciri opened her mouth to say ‘ _no, thank you’_ but then figured it’d be more suspicious. “What’s cheapest?” She squeaked.

Finally, the woman looked up from her knitting. “Have you not got any coin?”

“My father has all our money,” she hurried to mend. “He’s out on a job right now, but he’ll be back soon.”

The woman didn’t look moved. “You think I was born yesterday, kid? I ain’t gonna be swindled by some gutter rat.”

Ciri drew back before she could stop herself. “I am not a—“

“Just get the kid a slice of bread and a tea, Lucille.” A feminine voice called.

Startled, Ciri snapped her attention towards the owner of the voice and found her a table away; hair raven black and eyes purple as lilac.

“It’ll be on me,” she continued, giving Ciri a quick wink.

Ciri’s lips stretched into a smile before she could dredge up the common sense to be suspicious.

“You mean it’ll be on me?” The man to the purple-eyed woman’s right said, pouting. “Bloody hell, you’re expensive. Do you spend this much when you’ve got your own coin?”

The purple-eyed woman ignored him and the tavern keeper obediently shuffled away to get Ciri’s order. “What’s your name?”

Ciri blinked once then twice. “Fiona,” she said, trying her best to sound sheepish instead of suspicious.

“ _‘Fiona’_ ,” the woman echoed, almost as though she knew it was a lie. “What are you doing all alone in a place like this?”

“I’m not alone, my father is with me.”

“Kind of a shit father to leave his kid alone in this shithole.”

“He knows I can handle myself,” Ciri bit out, a bit more defensive then she’d intended.

But the purple-eyes woman didn’t look offended, instead she smiled, slow and impressed. Scooting over to the abandoned table between them, she extended a gloved hand. “Yennefer.”

Ciri’s heart stuttered in her chest but she managed to catch herself before her surprise could show. She took the soft glove in her own, shaking once then twice. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

***

The wolf had put up a good fight but he was no match for Geralt and his swords. Like most beasts, it’d been vicious and hungry but Geralt was used to killing vicious and hungry creatures. He’d killed it before sundown but then he found himself working out the puzzle of skinning the damn thing.

Rabbits and deer were common creatures for him to skin but he skinned them to get to their meat, not for their pelts. So managing to remove the thick coat in one piece proved to be quite the feat. But eventually he managed though the sun had thoroughly set by the time he finished.

_So much for that promise,_ he winced.

When he returned to the inn it was bustling again with late night activities. Light peaked out of the windows, illuminating the blackened mud in a warm glow. A cheerful jig played by a fiddle leaked out from the tavern into the crisp air, filling the night with an eerie ambience Geralt didn’t much care for. Voices spilled from the cracked front door, setting his teeth on edge.

He hadn’t thought the inn would be so bustling when he’d first stopped there. If he had he would’ve settled for sleeping on the cold forest floor.

He and Roach had just reached the edge of the trees when movement caught his eyes, bringing the two of them to a stop.

Two horses trotted out of the trees, their muzzles covered in black leather armor to match their riders.

_ Nilfgaard. Shit. _

The soldiers came to a swift halt aside the inn and dismounted, hands at their swords.

_They aren’t here for a drink,_ Geralt realized with a silent curse. _They’re here for business._

He loosened his grip on Roach’s reigns and sighed. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying this! Your encouragement and kind words have totally blown me away! Thank you so much!!!  
> I ain't gonna spoil my own fic but I think y'all will enjoy the next chapter. ;)


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